


Drawn of Charcoal

by araxes



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araxes/pseuds/araxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw paints the memories she sees in her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn of Charcoal

Shaw doesn’t remember much from her past.

She remembers the important things: birthdays, anniversaries, her father’s death, her first day of med school, her last, enrolling into the marines, being drafted into the ISA. Everything past that point though, is a blurry mess and the only answer she receives is a headache.

The doctors tell her it’s from the gunshot she received to her temple, one she survived somehow, one that they saved her from. She checks and rechecks the charts and tests they conduct and finds no inconsistencies; she searches Greer and the doctors’ eyes as they explain what they know and can’t find any lies.

They tell her about Research, she meets Samaritan and it shows her what it had accomplished, what it was accomplishing, what It needed her for. The most important thing she learned was that Sameen Shaw died and Samaritan brought her back and offered her a job, one she took.

Sometimes she tries to remember her life before waking up in a hospital room in a place she didn’t recognize with scars she didn’t remember. Memories come back in dreams and so far have only contained fragments of her childhood.

 

* * *

  

One of her only vivid memories involved a musty therapist’s office a few weeks after her father’s death. Her mother had scheduled the appointment after her father’s funeral wherein her extended family decided that she was abnormal because she wasn’t mourning properly.

They claimed she didn’t feel anything but Shaw had never been angrier than when her mother walked her into the therapist’s office to just “talk through what happened”. Shaw knew the truth, she saw the looks people gave her when she didn’t cry after getting hurt or smile as much as they wanted. She saw the way the firemen eyed her after the accident, like she wasn’t right.

Shaw remembered the way the therapist smiled at her, pitying and patronizing, like she was just a dumb kid. At ten years old, Sameen saw right through him and offered only silence to his numerous questions. She overheard her mother speaking to him after an appointment, she heard him use words like _“antisocial”_ and _“disorder”_.

The next week he procured a small drawing book and a pencil and asked her to draw.

“Draw what?” Sameen asked.

He smiled as if he won something, perhaps he had as it was the first words she’d spoken to him in their time together.

“Just draw how you feel, Sam.”

Sameen grit her teeth and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She reminded herself of the stakes before putting pencil to paper and playing ball. She wasn’t bad at drawing, she had steady hands and could color between the lines just fine. She looked up at the expectant eyes of the therapist, she didn’t know what she was going to draw; truthfully, she wasn’t feeling anything besides mild annoyance and hunger. More than anything, she knew what was in store if she didn’t play along so Sameen sketched what he expected her to, what he wanted from her and when she presented it to him, he smiled like he made a breakthrough.

Two weeks later, Sameen transformed into the dumb kid he wanted; she smiled and laughed and played along until the end of the session. She did that for two months until she heard him tell her mother that she was probably traumatized by the accident and finally, she was cured.

Sameen didn't go to therapy again and learned her most important lesson, people wanted to be lied to.

He parted with a message to her mother, told her that Sameen was a natural born artist and that she had a gift. Her mother bought her a sketchbook and a set of coloring pencils so she could continue her progress. Sameen didn’t draw in it once.

 

* * *

 

They move her from the hospital room after a few weeks. Her room is barren save for the bed and a small shelf which has nothing on it, the adjoining bathroom is the same save for a toothbrush and some soap. Greer sometimes looks at her room with a grimace and asks her if she wants something, anything to have for herself. 

“You’re not in a prison, dear.”

Shaw grumbles a negative knowing that he’ll ask again, that he asks every time he sees her room as if she’ll suddenly change her mind.

One day, Shaw returns to her room after a particularly grueling mission, Greer hot on her tails following up on her post-mission report. She bends over her sink, splashing water over her face and watching the blood on her neck and face trickle down her fingertips and into the drain. She watches as the crimson swirls and curves around the drain, stark red against the metal of the basic.

“Paint.”

Greer stops his droning, looking up from his papers to Shaw’s reflection in the mirror.

“You asked if I wanted anything for the room,” Shaw clarifies, “I want some paint and brushes.”

Greer stares at her until she turns to look at him fully. He stands silent for a few seconds as if debating internally before nodding and turning around.

Two days later Shaw returns to a blank sketchbook on an easel in the corner of her room. There is a small paint set, a few brushes and some charcoal sticks on her bed; Shaw is surprised at the lack of a note knowing how much Greer and Samaritan liked to talk her ear off. She takes a final look at the blank page on the easel before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

Shaw draws her memories.

The flashes in her dreams are usually gone before she wakes but when she manages to catch one, she jolts from her bed and sketches using the light of the moon. She draws a library in pencil and fills it with books.

 

 _“I didn’t know you could draw.”_  

_Shaw rolls her eyes at the voice._

_"What do you want, Root?”_

_Root walks until she’s beside Shaw, her eyes glued to the paper in Shaw’s hands._

_"Doodling on the job?” She says, amused by either herself or the drawing._

_“Yeah, well, when you have to deal with the most boring number in New York, you’ll get creative too.”_

_Root grins and tilts her head at the drawing. Shaw is a little embarrassed but she doesn’t let it show, continuing her doodle whilst keeping the number in her peripherals._

_“Is that the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?” She asks._

_Shaw huffs a laugh, unable to help the grin on her face._

_"It’s Fusco.”_

_Root frowns and looks up at Fusco poorly interacting with the number before looking back down at the drawing._

_“I see it now.”_

 

Her dreams get more vivid the more she draws. Things that once came in flashes now come with sounds and words. She sees a dog in her dreams and spends a whole day trying to figure out where she had seen it before. She sketches the dog in charcoal.

 

_“Honey, I’m home.”_

_Shaw frowns, not looking away from the canvas._

_“This isn’t your home.”_

_Root drapes her jacket over the couch and walks towards Shaw._

_“_ _But you are my honey?” Root says with a smirk._

_Shaw turns around and rolls her eyes, “you wish.”_

_Root laughs and stretches her arms before dropping onto the couch. Shaw scopes her body, checking for any new wounds or injuries._

_“See something you like?”_

_Shaw looks up at the mischievous grin on Root’s face and turns back to the drawing._

_Busy day?” She asks._

_“Same old, same old, hijacked a submarine, stopped a terrorist cell in Europe” Root yawns, “what did you get up to on your day off?”_

_Shaw shrugs and puts the brush back on the canvas._

_"Slept in, had some Chinese, watched the game.”_

_Root looks at the object holding Shaw’s interest._

_“And now you’re painting.”_

_"It clears the mind, keeps up my precision and coordination now that I can’t shoot bad guys anymore.”_

_Root sighs, not wanting to get into the same argument once again, she quirks her head to see Shaw’s painting clearer._

_“It also makes Bear look positively majestic.”_

_Shaw grins and takes a step back to admire her work._ _The Bear in her painting is sat at attention, eyes hardened and hackles raised. The Bear in real life, seated behind the canvas, was chewing on a ridiculously large bone and drooling slightly on her carpet._

_Root stands and makes towards Shaw, drawing her arms around her and enjoying the way she stiffened before relaxing slightly._

_This whole art thing is really hot, you know.” Root whispers into her ear._

_“Yeah?” Shaw grins and tilts her head to give Root access to her neck._

_Root agrees, muffled while pressing open mouth kisses to her throat._

_“How about you take me into the bedroom and draw me like one of your French girls, Sameen?”_

_Shaw laughs and turns around_.

 

The missions get more frequent and Shaw has less time to draw, the memories in her dreams fade away back into flashes and then into nothingness. She doesn’t have time to think about the memories or the meanings anymore. The sketchbook gathers dust in the corner.

One particular mission gets messy.

It was supposed to be a simple one, head into a location, find the targets and eliminate them.

The abandoned subway is a lot less abandoned then she thought it would be. She heads in after her team and walks into the single subway car. There are remnants of computers, scraps of paper and upheaved shelves and lockers. She spots a piece of paper taped to a locker on the floor. Crouching down, she picks it up and frowns. It’s a portrait of an unfamiliar face. What was familiar was the style and initials on the corner.

Before she could ponder it, Shaw hears a shout from outside. She stands and looks out the window to her team. Her eyes scan across the empty station.

She sees the charges on the pillars a little too late.

She manages to duck behind a wall before the explosives go off. Her team catches the brunt of it, she manages to get up and walk out.

The street around her is in chaos. People are running in no certain direction and the floor shakes and quakes beneath them. Shaw breathes heavily and limps towards the pickup location Samaritan chirped in her ear.

Shaw takes three steps before seeing something strange.

In the chaos of police cars, firetrucks and fleeing civilians, there is one person stood still, watching her. Shaw frowns at the woman, wondering where she had seen her before and gauging whether or not she was a threat before Samaritan reiterates Its orders more urgently.

Shaw turns and limps away from the woman.

Later, she recognizes her from the drawing.

 

* * *

 

She’s moved back to the hospital room when she gets back. She has a few fractured ribs and a broken wrist. They debrief her in her hospital room with Greer, Lambert and a few doctors standing around her bed. 

They ask her what happened and she tells them the truth.

They ask her what was in the subway and she tells them the truth.

They ask her if she saw anything of interest and she lies.

Greer stares at her impassively then looks down at a message on his phone. Whatever it says seems to appease him and they all leave her alone with nothing but a ticking clock and a morphine drip.

She dreams for the first time a long time, not sure if it’s a memory or the morphine. She sees brown eyes, brown hair and a leather jacket. She wakes up with a jolt, the heart monitor beeping wildly. Shaw looks at the door and breathes slowly, willing her pulse back to normal. When no doctors come, she lets out a breath and rubs her eyes; the memory still stuck to the back of her eyelids.

Shaw reaches over to the bedside table, grasping the medical charts she demanded she get a look at. She removes the pen from the side and closes her eyes, glimpsing at the vision before putting pen to paper.

She draws brown hair, then brown eyes, then the face she saw in the crowd.

 

_“Doodling again, Sameen?”_

_Shaw ignores the voice descending from the subway stairs and continues her sketching with slightly more force than necessary._

_"Are we still mad?” Root asks, walking up to Shaw’s cot with her hands on her hips._

_When Shaw continues ignoring her, Root huffs and leaves for the subway car. She removes her weapons and unbuttons her shirt._

_“Am I going to have to apologize for saving your life again?” Root shouts from the car and she loosens her belt. She gets silence in return._

_“Fine,” Root leaves the car and storms up to Shaw, her shirt still unbuttoned and her fly undone, “I’m sorry I care, Shaw. Is that good enough for you?”_

_Shaw stops her sketching and looks up at Root with a glare. She traces the frown on Root’s face before looking back down at the sketch._

_“Fine.” Root says and walks out of the subway station and away._

_Shaw traces the lines on the sketch a little harder, hardening the frown on the portrait before throwing the sketchbook away and planning her escape._

 

* * *

 

 

The next time she wakes up, Greer is beside her hospital bed thumbing through her sketchbook. Shaw’s stomach churns and she makes a move to get up before noticing the binds on her wrists and ankles. 

“What the hell…” She says, pulling against the restraints.

Greer continues flipping through the book, his eyes wide and interested.

“My dear Sameen, you’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?”

Shaw clenches her jaw and forces against the restraints, feeling the ache in her ribs as the heart monitor beeps more frequently.

“Do you recognize this location?” Greer shows her the library.

Shaw shakes her head no and he makes a noise.

“What about this?” Greer shows her a medal, she shakes her head again.

Greer looks at her closely before shutting the book and reaching for the bedside table.

“What about her?” He asks, holding the portrait for Shaw to see.

She blinks at the drawing, memories flashing behind her eyelids the longer she stares at it.

“What is going on here?” She says through gritted teeth.

Greer sighs and puts the paper back on the table with her book.

“I’m afraid our little experiment still has a few kinks to work out,” He says, standing up.

Shaw frowns, still struggling against the bonds.

“What experiment?”

Greer smiles at her, she notices how sharp his teeth look.

“You, my dear.”

The door opens and a dozen or so medical staff walk in with a machine Shaw has never seen before. She thrashes against the bed and her ribs cry out in pain until two nurses hold her shoulders down. The machine boots up and they fasten a few electrodes to her head. She twists her neck and tries to bite the arm of one of the nurses but barely misses.

“Rest now, Sameen,” Greer says with a chuckle, “you’ll be back in shape in no time.”

He takes the sketchbook and leaves the room.

Shaw continues struggling against her bonds until she feels a sharp pain in the side of her head. The noise shrieks and rattles in her skull, tearing it apart from the inside. She doesn’t know if she screams, she thinks she might, the pain in her ribs has disappeared and been replaced by only the loudness in her skull. She feels herself drop back down to the bed, her arms going limp at her sides.

Her head lolls to the side and the last thing she sees before she loses consciousness is the face in the portrait.

 

* * *

  

Shaw wakes up slowly and meets John Greer. He tells her she got shot in the head and lost her memory, she checks the charts and confirms his story. She meets Samaritan and it offers her a job which she accepts. They move her from the hospital room after a few weeks. Greer accompanies her to the room. Her room is barren save for the bed and a small shelf which has nothing on it, the adjoining bathroom is the same save for a toothbrush and some soap.

Greer leaves without asking her anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a screencap on tumblr in which Shaw had an easel in her apartment. This happened as a result.


End file.
